by Kim Slater
I kept showing her my sketch and she said, ‘Yes, like that,’ or ‘No, bigger nose, wider mouth,’ that sort of thing. When it was right, I made my lines a bit darker.
Jean couldn’t remember the colour of his eyes but it didn’t matter. It was the shape and how they looked that counted.
The last thing she told me was that the man had a scar running down from his left eyebrow to just above his mouth. I wondered how he’d got that. It sounded awesome.
Then I remembered he was the number one suspect for murdering Colin and a bit of sick taste came up into my mouth.
When I’d finished, I let Jean look at it.
‘Oh my God,’ she said. ‘That’s him.’
Jean said I was a genius.
We were getting closer to finding the killer.
I could feel it.
When Jean had gone to the hostel, I stayed by the river to think.
My brain was good at putting things in order and coming up with plans. Grandma always used to say that I was smart in a different way to most other children.
This is how it went in my head:
I wanted to see my mum.
She was still in bed when I went to school every morning.
She was at work when I got in from school.
When she got home, she belonged to Tony and not me.
I could see her when she worked in the Spar but couldn’t talk to her because of the staff rules.
When she left work, she was on her own for a short time. Tony or her boss couldn’t stop her talking to me.
After I had thought all this, I had a plan to wait for Mum after work and walk home with her.
I got my watch out of my pocket. It was 6.04 p.m. One hour and fifty-six minutes until Mum finished work.
I wrote down every detail of Jean’s description of the man.
I looked at my sketch again. If a man walked by, I took a really good look at him to see if his face matched.
It was getting dark now, so I went and sat on another bench under a street light.
It was the time I usually went home and up into my bedroom. My tummy was rumbly and I had nothing to eat. I had no money left in my pocket and my piggy bank was nearly empty.
I thought about what it might be like to live in a children’s home. The food wouldn’t match and there would be lots of boys there like Ryan, who wanted to punch and kick me.
There would be no safe place to hide my notebook and sketchpad. My letter and photograph from Martin Brunt would be torn into smithereens and flushed down the toilet.
My whole body felt heavy and slow. I felt like I wasn’t even bothered if the big boys came to beat me up.
When you are a teenager, your hormones do weird things to your brain. The school nurse talked to us about it in Social Skills. She said it was OK to talk to an adult if we felt bad or depressed.
‘Depressed’ is when you keep thinking bad thoughts all the time and never any good ones. I was being depressed. Sometimes you wanted to be – it felt better than being happy when everything was rubbish in your life.
Sarah Lamb’s dad was depressed. He lost his job at the Co-op warehouse and he couldn’t get another one because he was old. He was so sad, he hanged himself in the spare room.
I wanted to ask Sarah what her dad looked like when he’d been hanged but Miss Crane said that would be strictly out of order.
They used to hang people in London on Tower Hill. It was like going to the cinema for people back then; they used to queue up to watch it.
Depending on how the hangman tied the knot, you could have a quick death or a slow one. The government and even the Queen allowed it.
Grandma said she’d take me to London to see Tower Hill. You can go to the proper Tower of London, where the kings and queens actually lived. There are real Beefeaters there and people used to get beheaded if they made the Queen mad, even for something small like turning up late.
The best thing to see is London Bridge, because they used to cut traitors’ heads off and stick them along the bridge on spikes to teach people a lesson.
When I find Grandma, we are going to go to London. And when I am a reporter for the Post, I am taking her and Mum to the Ritz for afternoon tea. The Ritz is the poshest hotel in the world. They even open the door for you when you go in.
I drew a picture of London Bridge. In my drawing, Tony and Ryan had been beheaded and their heads were stuck on spikes. Me and Tyson were walking along the bridge and Mum and Grandma were waving to us from the Ritz on the other side of the river.
I drew people and boats on the river. I drew industrial buildings like Butler’s Wharf, where the big spice warehouses used to be. I had dogs and ducks and smoking chimneys in my picture. Lowry’s paintings showed me how to mix them all together, like in real life.
You can draw what you like in pictures. It makes your thoughts settle down and stops you from being depressed.
When my hands felt too cold to draw any more, I put my notebook and sketchpad back in my satchel and stuck my hands in my pockets.
I looked over towards the bridge. I could see somebody moving down there.
I wanted to go and have a look but nobody goes down there when it is dark but the druggies.
Druggies aren’t like normal homeless people. All they care about is taking crack cocaine. We learned about it at school. You just take it a couple of times for fun, but then you can’t stop. It makes you as thin as a skeleton and the long, middle bit of your nose rots away if you snort it.
‘The septum’, Miss Crane called it.
The worst thing is if the druggies share needles. Then they can get AIDS, which stands for Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome. If you get that, then you are up bleep creek without a paddle because there is no cure.
If a little kid picks up a needle with AIDS on it and pricks their finger, they can get it and die, even though they’ve never taken drugs.
I saw some more movement down at the bridge. I crept closer but stayed in the shadows.
My mouth felt dry and it was hard to breathe but I kept edging nearer. It was the only way to gather more clues about Colin’s murder.
I saw a man. He was standing staring at the river in the dark and smoking a cigarette.
He glanced around and I ducked back into the shadows.
He crushed the cigarette under his foot, then pulled up his collar and walked away.
If he thought he was disguised and safe, he was wrong. I’d seen his face before.
It was the security guard from the hostel.
A group of big boys stood outside the Spar.
It was 7.55 p.m. There were still a few minutes to go until Mum’s finishing time. I stood round the corner in the dark. I felt safer knowing that I could see the boys but they couldn’t see me.
I didn’t care that I had to wait for a few minutes. I used the time to think about why the hostel security guard might have been hanging around at the embankment.
It was possible he lived around here but I had never seen him before.
Maybe he had something to do with Colin’s death. He would have known Colin from the hostel. It was the only thing that made sense.
The boys outside the shop had cans of beer and were smoking. Their laughing and shouting was making a lot of noise.
Someone shouted ‘Shut the bleep up!’ from an upstairs window of a house at the side of the shop. They just laughed louder and stuck two fingers up, which is another way of swearing without words.
When people make a lot of noise in the street late at night, it is called ‘Anti-social Behaviour’. It always happens on our estate on nearly all the streets, apart from where the new houses are.
You can ring the police about it but they never come out because they are too busy chasing stolen cars. The police wish they could help more but they haven’t got enough staff to go round. That’s why they weren’t bothered about Colin.
I looked at the new Police Crime Map website on the library computer. It covers the whole country a
nd you can see exactly what crimes have been committed, on your own street or even near your school.
I put in our postcode. Our whole estate was covered in little circles. Each circle had a number in it to show how many crimes had been committed. A lot of the numbers stood for ‘Anti-social Behaviour’, ‘Vehicle Crime’ and ‘Drugs’. There were plenty of other crimes too, but those were the most popular. I even found circles for ‘Violent Crime’ and ‘Possession of Weapons’.
The crime map makes our area look really bad. But when you live here it’s OK. I’ve never even seen anyone with a gun.
I wrote down all the different crimes in my notebook. I would like to see all the details of each crime, but you are not allowed.
I asked Miss Crane what her postcode was. Hers was almost like mine, but on the other side of the river in West Bridgford.
There were no crime circles on her street at all. It was proper boring.
The boys outside the Spar shop started whistling and whooping. They were doing it at my mum, who had just come out.
‘Show us ya tits, darling,’ one of them yelled.
It made me really mad. I couldn’t wait until I was grown-up and strong. I would batter them to pieces.
I was about to run over to her when my feet stopped moving without my brain telling them to.
A man appeared from round the corner and stood talking to her for a few minutes.
It was the security guard.
Mum kept shaking her head and looking at the floor. The man was talking and holding his arms out, palms upwards, like he was trying to get her to listen to him.
In the end he shrugged his shoulders and walked off in the opposite direction.
What did he want? What was he trying to do?
I dodged back down the street to the end and came out of an alleyway, a bit in front of Mum.
‘Surprise!’ I jumped out in front of her. She brought her hand to her mouth and squealed. I thought she was going to be sick.
‘For God’s sake, Kieran!’
I wanted her to be happy, not mad.
‘Sorry, Mum,’ I said. ‘Who was that man you were talking to?’
‘What are you doing here? Have you been spying on me?’
I shook my head. ‘I just wanted to see you.’
Mum sighed. ‘I know it’s hard. I’m sorry, Kieran. When Tony gets a job, it’ll be different. I’ll have more time.’
Tony wasn’t going to find a job because he just lay on the settee all day and night, smoking.
I wanted to ask her more about the security guard, but you have to get people on your side sometimes, before they open up.
‘A new boy started school today. His name is Karwana.’
‘Blimey,’ said Mum. ‘That’s a bit of a mouthful.’
‘He comes from Uganda. He likes mashed-up green bananas.’
She looked at me sideways. ‘You didn’t tell anyone about Tyson, did you?’
‘No,’ I said.
‘Truth?’
‘Truth. But I’m glad he’s gone to a new home now, because he was very sad.’
I really hadn’t told a soul about Tyson, except for Miss Crane. But I tell Miss Crane nearly everything, so she doesn’t count.
‘I feel bad,’ she said. ‘But it’s done now, so that’s it.’
That meant there would be no more talking about it.
‘I don’t want to live in a children’s home,’ I said.
Mum laughed. ‘You daft bogger, what’s brought that on?’
‘I just don’t.’
‘That’s all right then, cos you live with us. So stop fretting.’
Her eyes stayed straight in front when she said it. It meant she wasn’t lying.
I balled my hand and held it up.
‘Us, forever,’ I said.
Mum did it back and we touched knuckles.
‘I’ve seen that man down at the hostel,’ I said. ‘He’s a security guard.’
‘Stay away from him, and stay away from that flea-ridden hostel,’ she snapped. ‘I can’t handle any more complications at the moment.’
How Mum knew the security guard was another puzzle that needed solving. But the main thing was that Mum wasn’t going to send me to a children’s home, even if Tony wanted her to.
So I decided to let it go. For now.
Normally, when I wait for Mum to come home, it always seems to take ages. But the walk back together went really quick.
When we turned on to our street, I had to stop and shake my head one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten times.
‘Come on, Kieran, I haven’t got time for this.’
‘Can Karwana come over one day?’ I said.
Mum pressed her lips together.
‘Not a good idea,’ she said.
‘Why?’
‘Tony wouldn’t like it.’
‘Why?’
‘He just wouldn’t,’ she said.
‘I’ve nearly done my picture of the sea in Art class,’ I went on. ‘Mrs Bentley said I can bring it home.’
‘That’s nice,’ said Mum. ‘Go up to your room and I’ll shout you when tea’s ready.’
‘I still haven’t found my special pencil sharpener,’ I said. ‘The one from my wooden prize box.’
‘Kieran, it’s been months. If it was here you’d have found it by now,’ she replied. ‘What about the red one I bought you from the Spar?’
‘It doesn’t match,’ I said. ‘The other one was made especially for my box.’
Mum covered her forehead with a hand and closed her eyes.
‘I’ve got more to worry about than missing pencil sharpeners, Kieran,’ she sighed. ‘Upstairs now and I’ll call you down for tea.’
Ryan tried to trip me up when I walked into the kitchen but I saw it coming.
‘You stink of piss,’ he whispered as I moved past him.
It was ages before Mum shouted me down for my tea. My tummy had stopped rumbling in the end.
Tony and Ryan had eaten meat pie with gravy. I saw the cartons on the worktop.
Me and Mum sat at the kitchen table and had beans on toast.
‘I like meat pie,’ I said.
Tony came in to get another can and slapped me on the back of the head as he walked past.
‘Don’t be so bleeping ungrateful,’ he said. ‘Eat what you’re given.’
He kissed Mum on the top of her head and she smiled up at him. But it wasn’t a full smile.
‘Best go up to your room when you’ve finished that, love,’ she said, when Tony had gone back to the living room. ‘We don’t want to get him in a mood again.’
‘I haven’t got any money in my piggy bank,’ I said. ‘Me and Karwana want to go out on the bus one day.’
Mum stood up and checked nobody was outside the kitchen door. Then she went to her bag and gave me three pounds.
‘Keep that to yourself,’ she said, and tapped her nose. ‘It’s nice you’ve got a little friend, even if he is foreign.’
It was only a bit of a lie because the money really was for the bus fare. Not with Karwana, though. It was to get me to Mansfield to see Grandma when I found her. I had left it with Jean like she’d told me to, but she hadn’t said anything about it yet.
I remembered my letter and photograph from Martin Brunt.
‘I’ll fetch them and show you,’ I said to Mum.
‘Another time, Kieran,’ she said. ‘I’ve got things to do.’
I kissed Mum goodnight and went upstairs. It was 9.58 p.m.
I felt like I was swimming in mud when I moved. Even shaking my head didn’t help. Everything was changing.
I curled up under my blankets in the dark with my clothes on. My hands were cold so I put them inside my shirt, next to my warm tummy.
Ryan had turned his game off and they were all watching telly. I could still hear it through the floor but it wasn’t as loud as the Xbox.
I didn’t see why I couldn’t stay down to watch it if I was quiet an
d didn’t get Tony in a mood.
I couldn’t get to sleep.
The man’s face, who Jean said looked like Johnny Depp, floated in front of my eyes.
He was out there somewhere. I just had to figure out how I could find him.
Then the security guard’s face popped up. Why was he down at the embankment? And what had he been saying to Mum? Maybe he wanted her to be his alibi.
An ‘alibi’ is an excuse. It is a way of proving to the police that you aren’t guilty of a crime. If the security guard convinced Mum to say she was with him on the day Colin was murdered, she would be his alibi and they’d have to let him go. Even though it would all be lies.
I needed to work out what both the men’s connection had been with Colin.
My brain was like minestrone soup with all different bits floating in it that didn’t make any sense.
As I fell asleep, I saw Tyson running in a meadow with daisies in it. He was happy and strong and you couldn’t see his ribs any more.
There were no people there to hurt him.
‘Keer-Ron, why do you have your own teacher?’ Karwana asked me at break.
‘Miss Crane is a teaching assistant. She helps me sometimes.’
‘Why?’
I looked at his face up close. His black skin glistened. His hair had the tiniest curls you ever saw, very close to his head. I liked his eyes. They were deep brown, like a chocolate digestive, and they looked kind.
‘I’m a bit different to the other people in my class. But not really bad, like Thomas Wheatley in Class Eight. He can’t stop touching girls’ tights.’
Thomas Wheatley was a genius at Maths and had already had a letter from Oxford University asking him to go there when he was grown-up. I would rather be good at drawing as it is more useful, especially when you are investigating a murder.
Karwana didn’t say anything.
‘Why did you leave Uganda?’ I said.
His eyes went far away.
‘It used to be nice there but not any more,’ he said.
‘Was your street full of crime circles ?’ I asked.
He shook his head.
‘Government troops killed my father,’ he said. ‘They shot him in the head in front of me and my mother.’
